


Oops, Wrong Genre

by MirrorDaltokki



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29002608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorDaltokki/pseuds/MirrorDaltokki
Summary: Being summoned into another world isn’t a new concept. Countless anime, web novels, light novels, video games, books, and otherwise have done it before. It’s so common there are even tropes for it.Get summoned, find adventure, meet party, defeat evil, go home.Kind of sucks that you didn’t get summoned into one of those. Welcome to Runeterra.
Relationships: Sett (League of Legends)/Reader
Comments: 79
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orangecrushcrushcrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangecrushcrushcrush/gifts).



> This is technically not part of it, but I’ve got an ongoing trade with orangecrushcrushcrush.
> 
> Blame them for dragging me into this fandom and Twitter for enabling this. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Uh, enjoy my foray into reader-insert I suppose.

This is, irrefutably, a spectacularly awful dream ripped straight out of an anime. And it wasn't a very good anime at that. It should have started with a truck barrelling down the road or some kind of shiny pretty magical circle or falling through a toilet or _something_. This dream doesn't know what genre it wants to be. The ground is covered in slimy stuff that glows a faint and friendly seeming blue that years of media tells you means this is the hero's side. Blue was good, red was evil. Simple stuff.

You’re in yoga pants, bunny slippers, and a really old t-shirt because that's what normal people get forced to wear on laundry days when all their good clothes are dirty and in the washing machine.

Wherever you are now could have been pulled straight out of any broken-down European castle, stone walls blackened with age, and the throne in front of you on a broken dais with red moth-eaten carpet leading up to it. That part doesn't bother you. What does, and should bother you, is the _people_ on the dais, in front of it, and all the ones who look like they're two seconds from jumping onto the shiny blue rock that's floating an inch or so above the ground between your legs.

The people belong in a post-apocalyptic grunge metal music video. The rest of the room belongs in a fantasy something or other tv show with more budget than the GDP of a small country. You belong at home on your couch. None of these genres match and it's actually kind of offensive at how badly they clash.

One of the people says something, a behemoth of a man with arms open wide as he grins in what was _probably_ supposed to be a reassuring welcome but came out more like a declaration of a potential homicide, and takes a step forward. His patchwork plate armor clanks. You scoot backward. The only thing you suffer is from the feeling of the sticky blue stuff soaking through your pants.

He takes another stop.

Clank, clank.

You scoot backward.

The really big axe attached to his back is not reassuring. It is old, chipped, covered in questionable bits of what you rather blissfully hope is rust, and he reaches a hand toward it with a frown. He says something else, a little bit slower this time and with a different cadence that sounds like a different language. Neither of the sets of things he says sounds like anything you’ve heard before in your entire life.

You are many things, but an idiot is not one of them. When the large man with an even larger axe moves towards you with a bit more purpose, you snatch up the glowy blue rock and scrambles to your feet with it clutched to your chest. The large man stops moving and holds his arms out like the motion alone will stop the rest of the members of his weird grunge metal band from doing anything.

"Put it down. Not that you fucking understand what I'm saying, but put it down, kid."

Oh, that you understood. He sounds like he gargled gravel for breakfast, but you can understand it. "No thank you." The shiny rock glows a little more steadily. This is strangely heartening. It is not a _heavy_ rock like it should be. This is probably because the rock wants to float and you are honestly just nudging it along and pretending that it's all your doing. Every bit of nerd in you is saying that this rock is super important and you should probably do your absolute best to run off with it.

The man scowls. "Look, girl. Just give us the Nexus Obelisk and we'll work something out."

Well, that settles it. This rock is a quest item. You can practically _hear_ the capitals in Nexus Obelisk, and you clutch the stone even tighter to your chest. "No. Thank. You," you enunciate firmly. Looking over your shoulder as you step backward, ostensibly to check for any of his friends, is a mistake.

Later, much later, you'll try and piece together the sequence of events that followed. The best you come up with is this:

You stepped back, the large man stepped forward.

He pulled his axe out and you lost your footing, slipping on the strange blue glowing gunk.

His axe swung down at the same time that you fell backward and all but threw the rock up to where it stuck in midair.

Said axe hit the rock, it cracked in half and continued floating.

And then the Nexus Obelisk halves fired lasers.

The large man did not survive his encounter with said lasers.

Then the two glowing rocks floated back to you.

Ominously.

Right by your head.

You do not remember much of the events after that past the haze of terror and shouting. The people who you assumed were friends with the man that had just been vaporized did not appear to take kindly to you turning him into a pile of ash, and so you did what any sensible person would: got back up and ran like your life depended on it.

If this was a dream then it was a terrible one. One that had been rather swiftly proven as your new reality by the very act of falling on your backside. Dreams, as a whole, did not hurt. They did not have any kind of sensation. So the aftertaste from your lunch and the feeling of sludge that had soaked into your skin were enough to prove that this was your life now.

The Nexus Obelisk halves floating by your head made sad little crackling sounds as the light in them faded. If rocks could run out of battery power, lights flickering as you ran, then you would have said that was what was happening. They drooped, no longer determined (because this was your life now and sentient rocks were on the table for discussion in this place) to float by your head. Or, more accurately, unable to float by your head. But you really didn’t want to lose the lasers, just in case the axe-man’s friends showed up and wanted vengeance and retribution for your accidental part in his demise.

Also, please see, you had questionably sentient lasers.

Said lasers were now stuffed down your bra because yoga pants did not have pockets. Not that the rocks would have fit in pockets, especially considering that half of them stuck out of your bra and made your shirt look pointy in all the wrong kinds of ways. But you had loyalty to those floating rocks that would not be denied by the limitations of fashion.

Whoever the grunge metal band members were, they appeared to have set up their evil lair in a church. Specifically an abandoned church on the outskirts of an otherwise perfectly sensible town. Which, if you threw the horrible throne out of the smashed out window and replaced it with an altar and some fancy religious statue, you could agree that the place might have been a nice church at one point. Now it was a den of questionable evil you did not particularly feel like lingering in.

So you had fled.

Your fluffy bunny slippers managed to get you to a street. Streets meant people. People meant someone could give you directions. You would happily accept the name of whatever genre confused anime world you had ended up stuck in lieu of directions on how to unstick yourself from said genre confused anime world.

And you would die on the hill of calling this an anime. Only anime series started with premises this overdone and stupid with poor execution and follow-through. Honestly, it was probably one of those dumb web novels based on a hypothetical game world where the main character had just been summoned by accident and wacky hijinks would ensue. Something, something, power of friendship.

Seriously. Your starting equipment was a rock that was now two rocks and your laundry day clothes.

Granted, your rocks fired lasers, but they were still rocks.

Your fluffy bunny slippers managed to get you to a nice looking man who only looked like he was a little bit from a grunge metal music video. Same fashion sense as the people in the abandoned church but much less money went into his costume budget. Clearly, this meant he was an NPC and thus harmless. “Uh... hello?”

The man squinted at you and slowly looked you over from the top of your head to your rock stuffed bra and then down to the bunny faces on your toes. “Whatcha want for, girlie?”

Well. This man understood you, which said more for his intelligence than the axe-man. You even sort of understood him once you took a moment to process his weird accent. “I’m looking for... uh... some information.” Shitty anime standards. Ok. You needed people who specialized in the weird, and that meant following conventions. “Do you know where the guild is? Big building, full of people who fight a bunch for money?”

He snorted. “Yeah? Whatcha want there?”

Every bad isekai anime and light novel said that was just where you were supposed to go. “Uh... I want to register?”

“You? They’ll eat you alive, girlie.”

Nope. You’ve got this. Your mad cheat isekai skills would see you through. “You never know until you try. And I kind of really need to go there.” He is not wrong. Your skinny arms and little pudge did not a good adventurer make. But that was what registering as a mage was for. Floating rocks that shot lasers totally counted as magic devices and you would die on the hill of being classified as a delicate ranged specialist. Emphasis on delicate.

You give him your best smile. “I would appreciate some directions, if you would be so kind.” You have never been this polite in your life and it’s almost painful.

He sighs. “Your funeral.”

The building he directs you to is, in fact, absolutely massive and teeming with people. Some of them even wait in the lobby in orderly lines. You can do lines. Your entire life has prepared you for the art of waiting in line. There is even one line that has a big sign that says ‘registration’ on it in what you assume is several languages. That’s the one you want.

You are prepared for the man at the desk to laugh when he sees you. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. I want to register.” Stay firm. The first test of becoming an adventurer is to overcome the receptionist.

“Do you even know what we do here?” He looks like he wants to pick you up by the scruff of your neck and throw you out of the building for your own safety.

Instead of arguing, you grin. “Yup.” You very much know what they do here and you kind of really need them to let you register so you can get to the herb gathering and vermin catching so you can afford somewhere to sleep tonight. “I would really, really appreciate it if I could just... get the paperwork done so I can get to earning some money.”

The man shakes his head. “Your funeral.” He puts your name down and sighs. “Do you even have a weapon?”

You fish your rocks out of your bra. “Yup. I came prepared.” Your rocks are still a little floaty and glowing, so you assume they’ll still work. “Uh... do you have like, a staff I can put these on?”

He gives you a mop and looks like he would rather be anywhere else. But he does his job and points you at a door past a throng of people who snicker when they see you. “Fight’s that way, girlie.”

Well, that was nice of him, you think as you tie your rocks to the mop head in the worst magic staff of all time. Ha, look at you, mastering the whole becoming an adventurer thing. It’s not like you need to be super impressive. Even a basic adventurer rank can get herb gathering jobs. All you have to do is the basic introductory fight to see how good you are at combat and you’re good to go.

The exam is much more popular than you anticipated. You expected a little room with a weapon rack or something. What you got was a little room that led to a long hallway that led into a literal stadium thronging with people. You feel very out of place in your laundry day clothes, your trusty new laser rock equipped mop over your shoulder. The Nexus Obelisk halves seem to be much happier now that they’re anchored to something and you’re much happier now that your bra isn’t filled with rocks. But this many people in one place is absolutely terrifying.

“Nope.” You try to spin on your heel and go back the way you came, but the large receptionist is waiting for you.

He gives you a wicked grin. “You said you came prepared.”

You can hear someone yelling your name from the stadium. Something something, newcomer to the ring, hailing from lands unknown.

Wait a second. “Wait-“

He pushes you out the room and into the absolute madness that is the arena. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you, girlie!”

Oh, sweet mother of god the man across the arena from you looks like he ate a baby for breakfast and his get-up is so edgy that his lawn is managing itself. He flashes you a grin and licks one of his blade things in his hand, his everything making you cringe as you have a sudden desire to scour your skin clean.

“I changed my mind!”

There is no changing your mind because the man in front of you takes advantage of your confused shout to dash forward far faster than a human being should be able to go. You have enough time to turn your head before he is close enough for you to see what color his teeth are.

Your laser rocks, however, do not need eyes to see him approach. One rock floats a little higher than the other and shoots off a laser at the same time that you jerk around in surprise. You skew your rock’s aim. Instead of hitting him, your laser hits the wall behind him and leaves a long line seared into the stone. “Uh... oops?”

The crowd goes quiet for a breath before they all but roar with enthusiasm. Whatever you did, you seem to be the best bit of entertainment these people have seen in these exams lately. Maybe the crowd appeal will get you a better rank when you’re done. It’s been known to happen. Huh, maybe you’re supposed to name your attacks or something and you’ve committed the worst social faux pas.

Whatever the case, the creepy examiner is not pleased and seems to want to actually hurt you.

Your laser rocks do not like this.

It’s a good thing your rock is broken and now two rocks, and maybe you should have thought about this before you tried to use a death laser as a weapon for an adventurer ranking exam. But luckily, being broken seems to have dimmed the power the rocks can output at once, now that they’ve stabilized sufficiently, and instead of death lasers you now have respectable weapons that can at least burn hair and skin, and oh god you may have lit that man on fire.

Or you did before he flopped forward and started rolling frantically, but the announcer called it your win so you take a bow and head back through the nice door to the receptionist. Gardening has never seemed more fulfilling to you than it does at this moment, and you all but skip to his desk.

“I’ll be damned, you actually survived.”

You give him a thumbs up and he stares confusedly back at you. “Yup! Told you I had it covered. How’d I do?”

He puts a bag down in front of you, heavy with shiny gold. You take it, peering at the contents in mild confusion. This is not an adventurer’s permit. This is a bag of gold coins. Not that gold is not nice to have, but this is not what you came here for. “Um, is this an advance payment? I thought I had to like... go on quests or something first.”

The man looks at you like you’re an absolute idiot. “What quests? You had a fight. You won. This is your cut. That’s how fighting pits work, girlie.”

You freeze, your laser rocks floating ominously above the mop head. “I’m sorry. Did you just say fighting pits? Is this... not the adventurer’s guild?”

He looks like he regrets ever meeting you, but he is slow and cautious with his words. “Did... did someone tell you this was the adventurer’s guild? Girlie, how old are you?”

This is mildly offensive. Just because your slippers are fluffy bunnies and your shirt has a cartoon puppy on it does not mean you’re a child. “Old enough, thanks.”

“Boss isn’t going to like this. Oh man, he was all about those damn rules. Did someone scout you?”

You don’t like this. As the one holding the laser rocks, you are a more pressing concern in his life. “No? I mean... I think?” Did getting summoned from your living room to an abandoned church where you met the weirdest grunge metal band of all time count as being scouted? You’re not sure. You’ve never been part of a fighting pit, and the rules for this seem a bit confusing. “But this does mean I don’t have a job, right? I really need a job.”

Frowning at you like you’re an idiot so much is going to make this man’s face get stuck like that. “You wanna be permanent? Gotta talk to the boss.”

Cool. That’s more up your alley anyway. Your yoga pants don’t include your resume and it isn’t like your references can phone in here, but you’re pretty sure you can hash something out. “Oh. Should I set an appointment for an interview?”

A throat clears behind you and you all but jump out of your skin, your laser rocks humming ominously like they aren’t sure if this person is a threat or not. The lack of visible weaponry seems to confuse the poor things and you feel kind of bad about making them do the majority of the threat assessment. Because you’ve done your own.

Tall. Muscled. Fashionable. Frowning. Ridiculously attractive.

Animal ears on the top of his head.

“Oh my god I am in a shitty anime after all.” The fighting pit confused you, but a man who looks like he has cat ears on top of his head rather solidly places you back into familiar territory.

This new man does not seem pleased. “Y’know, that’s not normally what women say when they see me, but I’ll take it.” His ears twitch and all of you wants to pet them to see if they’re real.

You’re in an anime with a pretty animal eared man. Clearly, some budget went into his costume design, and again you hate how the genres can’t seem to fit in this terrible anime world. All you can do is look confusedly from the receptionist to the new man. The budget difference is clear. This is the main character. You tighten your grip on your laser rock mop. “I want a job.”

He blinks at you, then smiles slowly so you can see all his teeth. “Go fight for it then.”

“Uh... administration?”

“Nah. You and that... the hell, is that a mop?”

You blink right back at him. “Yes? No. It’s my magic staff.” Which, with laser rocks tied to it that never need charged, it might as well be magic.

He shrugs. “Well, take your magic mop and get to it then. You want a job? Go earn it.”

And that is how you manage to become an active member of a fighting pit instead of the adventurer’s guild.

Maybe you can find someone who can give you better directions next time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations complete!
> 
> This is now chapter 2 of 5, and there will be smut in here. We're doing great.

Pit fighter is not the career choice that your parents would approve of. But they aren't here and you don't seem to have any better options that won't end up offending a selection of people that look like they can and happily will crush your head between their hands like a grape if you insult them.

Laughing nervously and declining the attractive animal eared man's offer might count as offending these people.

Your laser rocks only make two lasers, and they are no longer capable of near-instantaneous disintegration. The closest you ever came to fighting before today was the time you shoved a kid in kindergarten because he didn't want to share the red crayon. You will not survive a real fight with all the people that are invested in your induction into their noble career.

This is probably why you find yourself walking down that hallway and back into the arena.

You are the first fighter in the entire pit's history to win a match by crying and clinging to a mop while your opponent tries to dodge lasers.

Your mop is the best.

You've named it Voldemort Junior. Voldy for short because you're friends now.

Voldy seems to like its name if the extra shiny glimmers on the floating rocks are any sign of satisfaction. Honestly, since Voldy turns its tracking lasers on your opponent and not you, you safely assume you're friends now. You've learned that as long as you don't move or let go of the mop, the shiny rocks kind of take over the fine art of firing lasers for you.

It's pretty easy to learn.

You win your match with tears on your face, a death grip on your mop, and your opponent slumped over and smoking across the arena.

You get the job.

You also get your first performance review immediately after your first victory. Well, technically this is your second, but everyone has gracefully agreed to ignore your first fight since you weren't even aware of what it was. At least you hope that everyone is ignoring it. No one's said anything about it except to stare incredulously at you whenever you ask about that poor man.

Standing across a massive desk from your new boss, you feel like you're very much in danger. He does not look pleased to see you. His office chair looks very comfortable though and you kind of want to know where he got it from.

You also want to smack his feet so he takes his shoes off of the polished wood. That is probably mahogany and you are not about to be held responsible for any damage it sustains. Then again, it's also not your desk.

This is a very conflicting feeling.

The man raises one fingerless gloved hand and twirls his finger. "Lemme see what we're working with."

You aren't sure why it matters, but you do a slow spin like you were trying to show the clothes you were trying on to your mother in the changing room. Maybe pit fighting was like being a professional wrestler.

Maybe you would get a cool stage name and some fancy clothes.

The man sighs and you can hear the thunk of his feet hitting the ground. "Ya look like an idiot. Did you wake up this morning and just decide to be a pit fighter?"

You shake your head slowly. "No," you say as you draw out the word and shiftily look to the side. "I was looking for the adventurer's guild."

He barks out a laugh. "Well, this ain't it."

"Yeah, I figured that part out, thanks." You grip Voldy like a lifeline.

He rubs his chin and gets to his feet in a creak of leather and the whisper of silk. "But you went two for two against some of my fighters. That says something."

You can feel Voldy humming, priming its lasers as he moves closer to you. Friend or foe, neither of you know. "Thanks?"

"Told you. You and your magic mop earned a spot on the roster. Now we just gotta make you look like it." His fingers are surprisingly warm, nails carefully not scratching at your skin. This does not mean you appreciate him grabbing your chin and moving your head around to look at your face. "Shouldn't be too hard."

This anime world is moving rapidly from being a standard isekai web novel to the basic set-up for a proper power-trip novel. You've even gotten yourself an experienced guide into this world. Hold up, why is he touching your hair?

You make a strangled eep of protest and he laughs. "Relax. I'm not about to hurt you. Unless you want to see if your mop can beat my fists. Been a bit since someone tried."

"Please don't kill me."

He lets your chin go in order to throw all of himself into laughing at you. You would be offended if you weren't now intimately aware of a few things about your new boss:

He smelled like whiskey and smoke.

His gauntlets look well used and he clearly has the muscle to back it up.

He is faster than you.

Oh god, he is hot.

You still want to pet his ears.

Why are his pants so _tight_?

"Ay, never pick a fight ya can't win." He smirks at you, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms over his chest, and you think your face might be on fire. Is this a reverse harem isekai? Is that what's happening? "You know how to throw a punch, right? Because you're going to have to pay me for lessons."

Nope. Not a reverse harem. He's just a skeevy asshole.

Sett, because you have now learned your boss's name, became the pit boss by virtue of _beating the snot_ out of anyone who thought they had the chops to take over. The worst part is that he makes it into a show.

You know this because he makes you watch. Honestly, it's pretty terrifying how good he is at it. You've seen MMA before, you are not a heathen without cable television. You might not have watched an actual match, but there are enough commercials advertising fights with clips of the fighters that you understand the concept of showmanship. And Sett? Sett is a _professional._

"So, what'd you learn?"

Voldy hasn't left your death grip since your introduction to the rules and regulations of Sett's pit fighting operation in real-time. Most of your introduction to pit fighting has been at the expense of other people, and this was no exception.

A man had won a match last night and come back to the pit at the same time that you and your boss had left the office. This would have been fine if that man had not apparently very publicly yelled at your boss that he wanted, no, he _deserved_ a bigger cut of the money.

You just got here, but you were pretty sure that was not how this worked.

And your boss? Oh, he had just smiled and cracked his knuckles when the man at the till reminded him about his match. You followed him to the arena, the receptionist following right after in order to tell your boss the betting odds as he walked. In the spirit of it, you had put a few shiny gold coins into the nice man's hand and told him that you wanted to bet on your boss.

Sett had smirked at you and you could all but feel your face catching on fire again.

Sett, the Beast-Boy Bastard, King of the Pit, beat that man into a bloody mess in the name of applause and what you now came to realize was a truly _stupid_ amount of money. On the one hand, you now know his name. On the other hand, you're pretty sure that man's face is never going to look the same again after being so intimately introduced to the floor.

You meet him back in his office, the receptionist carefully counting out a neat little pile of coins to add to your already decently sized bag. Betting on your boss is a safe bet apparently.

But what did you learn from that? Aside from the fact that violence is rather lucrative, your boss is really good at it, and your lunch did not taste nearly as good the second time around?

"I quit."

This is the shortest you have ever had a job.

He does not let you quit.

He does, however, ask if you know how to do anything that isn't standing in one spot and letting Voldy do all the hard work for you.

You tell him that you were a cashier once as a teenager.

"Job's simple. Take the money, put it in the till. Don't steal from me or let anyone else do it. Bring the till back to me at the end of the night." He squints at Voldy and wiggles his fingers. "Zap anybody who tries."

You stare at him. This is the worst job interview and subsequent orientation known to mankind. "What does that have to do with my fighting earlier?"

Sett raises an eyebrow and stares down at you. "You are the worst pit fighter I've ever seen."

He's not going to beat the snot out of you since you aren't trying to take over. You squint at him. "I won though."

He snorts as he crosses behind his desk and retrieves a bottle of what you're pretty sure is whiskey. It's unfair how gracefully he pours himself a glass, then stares at you for a long moment before getting out a second glass and pouring a pinky's worth to his three fingers. He sets the glass in front of you after a long moment. "Listen. I run a fighting pit. People come for a show, bet money, buy booze, lose money, and that's how I make my money." He takes a long sip.

"You? You _suck_."

You knock back the glass like a champion. This stuff has nothing on the time you tried moonshine. "But I won." You slam it down in front of you and watch his eyebrow crawl up into his hairline. Take that, stupid pretty animal man.

He pours you a proper glass with a grin. "And you sucked. You stood in the middle of the arena and zapped people while _crying_. You _cried_ in a _fighting pit._ So, you suck. But... you did win and I did say you could have a job if you did."

His arms open in the most grandstanding show of magnanimity possible. "I am, if nothing else, a man of my word."

"So you're making me your ticket girl."

"Now you're getting it."

"I hate you." You knock back your glass at the same time he does, just to be petty.

All you get for your efforts is a laugh. Your boss laughs at your misery a lot. "See you tomorrow evening. Try to dress nice."

The joke's on him; what you're wearing is all you have. If he can wear silk disco pants, you can show up to work in your bunny slippers. At least you'll be comfortable.

You do not, contrary to what Sett believes, have anywhere to stay. He waves you out of his office so he can count his money like a proper scrooge and you scurry off before he changes his mind. There's nowhere for you to go and you're just a little bit terrified that the axe-man's friends are going to show up and destroy you.

It's not like you can hide in a closet and wait them all out.

Wait.

This is a terrible anime world.

What's stopping you from sleeping in the closet?

Your new digs are not a janitor's closet. They are much more comfortable than that. No, you appear to have found the 'useless things and supplies' storage room, and it is a wealth of opportunity. It seems that not even fighting pits are immune to the allure of festive decorations, knick-knacks, and sundry. There's even a sack full of other little sacks that match the one you have shoved down your bra for lack of anywhere else to put it.

Sett has clearly never bothered to send someone in here to clean because a cloud of dust fills the air and makes you cough when you shake out a likely candidate for a sheet.

You manage to cobble together a rather decent bed out of banners, a fancy pair of thrones with gold paint flaking off their backs, two cushions, and a crate. It's not the prettiest thing, but it's something plausibly easy to hide by tossing a drop cloth over it.

You have a feeling you're going to be stuck here for awhile.

Voldy gets tucked in with its own blanket, right next to you and within easy reach, just in case you need to laser a pervert or something.

The sound of Sett yelling down the hallway at some hapless soul is better than an alarm clock. You sit up fast enough to pop your back because, to your chagrin, just because your impromptu bed might have been functional did not mean it was particularly comfortable to sleep on and you are far too attached to your comfy mattress back home.

There's no way you can wear your laundry clothes again, not when your new boss specifically told you to wear something nice.

You go through boxes in a frenzy, pulling out costume after costume that are clearly designed for those pretty women synonymous with organized fights. You pause for a moment as you come to the painful realization that you are now one of those women. Your parents would cry if they saw you now.

You do find something your size and you hate it on principle. Normally you wouldn't be caught dead in something like this, but beggars can't be choosers when they're cutting it as close to opening as you are.

Shoving the costume with all of its fluffy bits under your arm, snatch up Voldy in the other hand, and bolt out of the room.

There's no way you're going to find a shower in this place, but you remember seeing a stupid fountain in the pit waiting room. You do not have the luxury of choice, so what works to wash the blood off after a fight will do just fine to make you look like a member of the professional working populace.

You run right by the receptionist who holds a hand up like he wants to talk to you. "Sorry," you scream over your shoulder. "Gotta change!"

Voldy is amazing at propping the door closed so no one can see you in the most shameful moment of your life.

For the record, cold water baths with a bar of questionable soap and your inside out yoga pants as a washcloth? Zero out of ten, you do not recommend the experience at all.

But you are clean.

Freezing and miserable, but clean.

And once you shake out all the parts and line them up, the costume isn't all that bad. It speaks of budget and a firm declaration of your combat class, and it's kind of cute. You are about to go from an unfortunate isekai victim to the main character of this godawful anime in one outfit change.

Frilly skirt with a slip of a petticoat, thigh-high boots, a bodice that actually supports you up top so you can finally wash your bra, and weird arm sleeve things. You don't even mind the animal ear headband that clips to your hair with a pretty gem and feather combo that matches the brooch on your bodice. The foxtail?

Maybe a little much.

Voldy back in your grip, your transformation is complete.

You are Off Brand Magical Fox Girl, and you can handle selling people tickets at the door. Your boss wears disco pants, you can wear a knock-off Sailor Moon costume.

Sett better be paying you at least minimum wage for this.

The currency of this world is in gold, silver, and copper. Ten copper makes one silver, ten silver makes one gold. You ask what ten gold makes to your new receptionist friend and he stares somewhere past your head with a pained look on his face.

You don't get it, but not a single person will look at you for longer than two seconds without making the same face.

Whatever. You are clean and this counts as being dressed nicely if your boss's clothes are any kind of standard. Plus, it's kind of comfortable and weirdly empowering. The swish of your skirts and tapping of your heels when you have to run from one side of the vestibule to the other is actually fun. Even better, anime rules have held true, and wearing these heels is actually not causing your feet to scream in pain.

You're doing absolutely fine, and you've even made it through an explanation of a cash register and why they're great to your new best friend. Your register is just far enough away from the betting desk to leave room for people and yet not so far you can't talk to Ryo the Receptionist without screeching like a banshee.

Ryo looks about ready to evict you from the building. "Girlie, you got some kind of weird death wish?"

"Huh?"

He opens his mouth and gets cut off by the roar of the signer of your paychecks.

"And where in the hell is the damn ticket girl?"

Some weird part of you responds badly to yelling when the person yelling has proven their ability to turn you into a smear on the ground. You scramble to your feet and try to pull off the best approximation of a salute. "Sir, yes sir! Present and accounted for, sir!"

You are the picture of professionalism. You are the perfect employee. You will never rock the boat and plan a mutiny.

The entire room goes quiet enough for you to hear a pin drop.

Sett stops moving, blinks once and then twice like he's questioning reality. "Well, I'll be damned." He catcalls, a sharp sound in the silence. "Didn't know I was runnin' this kind of establishment."

Your grip tightens on Voldy as he beckons you to come closer with a crook of his fingers. "You tryna butter me up?" And just like before, he twirls his finger and you obligingly spin to let him see you from all angles.

Oh god, you forgot how short magical girl skirts tend to be and he definitely seems to approve. This was a mistake. You should have tried to find something out of a different box.

He leans in and you are reminded of the fact that the genre of this crappy anime is still obscure enough to make this possibly dangerous. Ryo's kind of attractive, and you're beginning to get the sense that your reliable coworker is a ninja. Your boss runs around with his chest exposed in way too tight disco pants that leave the most important thing not up to the imagination.

"Cute. Lose the ears and tail."

The needle of this anime's genre is dipping dangerously close to a romance or reverse harem.

Something about his grin makes you feel all kinds of weirdly warm and fuzzy. "The rest? Consider that your uniform." He looks over your shoulder and stares at your new best friend with a quiet expectation.

"You got it, boss." Ryo is a dirty traitor.

You get busy with removing the ears and tail from the little clips on the bodice and headband while Sett's not looking at you.

He turns his attention back just in time for you to throw the tail under the table like it never happened and speaks low enough for only you to hear. "Wear a shorter skirt next time and I'll pay extra."

You kick him in the shin on reflex with your shiny new heeled boot and Voldy hums ominously in agreement. Well, that was a mistake.

He laughs and leans back before he yells at the rest of the poor pit staff to send them scurrying about their jobs. "You all know the deal. You want a show, you pay for it."

Nope. The genre remains obscure. He's still just an asshole.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's fun? UST.

Sett is an asshole, but at least he's an asshole who rewards a good work ethic. You know this because your first meal in this horrible isekai is _on the house._ Ryo informs you of this with the most dumbstruck look on his face your new best friend has ever made in your presence and this time it is not your fault.

On the house means Sett pays for it.

You get the idea that Sett might love his money more than the average man. And a sinking feeling in your gut tells you that Sett paying for your meals is a bad thing.

This feeling solidifies when the man ever so carefully leans on the wall behind your little table without so much as asking permission. He doesn't say a word to you and that suits you just fine.

Your job would be so much easier if it wasn't for him leaning over you every once in a while to make small talk in what sounds like a foreign language to people who look like they belong with the axe-man's metal band. You could deal with that, it was fine. What was _not_ fine was that if those particular people looked at you for what you supposed was too long for Sett's taste... he seemed to like cracking his knuckles and saying things that you are _pretty sure_ translate universally as 'move or get your ass kicked.'

The other women on staff do not seem to have this kind of problem.

You have also seen several of those women do lasting physical damage, the kind of damage you are not comfortable with doing, to several men in horrifying ways that involve knives and creative grabbing of soft body parts.

You want to be one of these women when you grow up.

When the crowd dies down in the initial rush and it's fewer tickets being sold and more entry fees being paid in and out, you finally let yourself pull out the stool under your register and flop onto it.

Sett disappeared somewhere in the middle of what you're pretty sure is the worst of your shift.

And when everyone leaves, you clean up your area, pack up your register, and hold your hands up when Sett comes to personally collect your coin box. You're fine with this because the box is ridiculously heavy by the end of the night and you don't think you could lift it so much as drag it across the floor to Sett's office.

He grabs the box with one hand and a wink. "Shift's over." Sett smirks at you when you brush your skirts off and grab Voldy on your way to your feet.

You're honestly kind of amazed that your feet aren't bleeding from standing in those boots for so long, but you would still rather be wearing your bunny slippers. "Oh thank god," you sigh and roll your shoulders.

"Good job." He doesn't even sound like he's faking it. "Next time, you're solo. You see how the other girls do it?"

It takes far too long for your brain to process what he's asking. "Yes? No. No!" You shake your head and stare up at him. The man's lost his mind. "You want me to... do that?"

Sett has zero patience. "I don't run that kind of business."

"Yeah, ok. But I'm not... breaking a dick with my bare hand." You had seen it in action thanks to an Asian woman with glittering gold on her face that matched the glow of her eyes and the tendrils running up her arms. She had spun right around on her stiletto heels and grabbed a man by the balls and squeezed so hard you're pretty sure you saw blood while he screamed.

No one had tried to touch her again.

"You gonna pay me to babysit you at work?" His eyebrow crawled up his forehead and you wanted to slap it right back down. "Look, you're soft. You don't belong here. So if you wanna stay that bad, do yourself a favor and try to toughen up."

He isn't wrong and you kind of hate him for it.

But this is an undetermined isekai. The plot demands you stay here until you figure out what's going on or the reason why you're here in the first place.

So you toughen up.

You make it two weeks unsupervised without an incident.

Two weeks of trying to learn how to mentally tell Voldy that zapping people into ash piles is bad. Lighting them on fire is also bad.

You manage to compromise on a super hot laser that has about the strength of a stovetop on medium-high.

In those two weeks, you've managed to turn the storage room into the kind of comfortable pillow fort you dreamed of as a child. You've been a Halloween witch with the fancy hat twice, six different color variations of off-brand Sailor Moon, three different kinds of ninja, a French maid, and two memorable days of hanfu where Sett tried to send you home and you just nervously laughed and pretended he never mentioned it before going about your business.

Two whole weeks of staying in a storage room like you were some twelve-year-old girl who decided to run away from home and hide out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Your luck was bound to run out.

You get off shift and wave at your new coworkers and pretend to leave for the night. When the throng dies down and you've said your last goodbyes, you put your bunny slippers to excellent use in clambering back into the building and the safety of your storage room.

You've gotten pretty good at it.

"Ya know, this is not what I pictured you gettin' up to at night." That scratchy drawl is the last thing you want to hear.

"Oh _fuck_ ," is all you manage to breathe out as you lose your balance and topple off the windowsill. At least you have a nice little pile of chair cushions and rolled up banners to break your fall, but it still hurts on the way down.

There he is in his full glory, arms folded over his chest and looking like he can't decide if he wants to wring your neck or laugh. "Ya offerin'?"

And sometimes he compromises by shameless flirting.

You splutter, pulling stray hairs out of your mouth as you sit up and rub the bruised parts of your backside. This is officially your worst nightmare.

"So. What's a pretty thing like you doin' in a place like this?" Sett has made himself perfectly comfortable on your impromptu bedding, lounging in one of the chairs like he owns the place.

He does, in fact, own the place.

You have been squatting in his storage room. Right in the lair of the beast himself without considering asking for permission even once over the entire time you've been there. At first, it was just easier because the axe-man's friends could have shown up at any time. Now?

Now you're just comfortable and this is free.

You don't know what to say.

Sett leans forward. "You've been hidin' in _my_ pit. Eatin' _my_ food, wearin' _my_ clothes, and sleepin' in _my_ _closet_." He looks about as angry as the time you saw him turn a man into a bloody disaster. "Did ya really think I wouldn't notice?"

OK, to be fair, you kind of did.

Voldy thrums louder than it has a right to in the silence. And all you see is Sett reach behind his back, for what you assume are his brass knuckles, and you watch your life flash before your eyes.

"Oh god. I don't have anywhere else to go!"

He stops.

You blink back tears.

He sighs. "You a runaway?"

All you can do is shake your head.

"I'm gettin' soft." Sett gets to his feet with a sigh and beckons you to him with the crook of two fingers. "Come on. You're cleanin' all this in the mornin'."

You scramble to your feet and Voldy simmers down in your hands. The threat has passed and the Nexus shards tied to your mop are no longer contemplating turning Sett into barbeque.

The terms of your life are now dictated by the debt you owe to Sett. He's fair about it, but he doesn't mess around with his money.

Your bag of gold is gone, off to pay for the rental of a room and 'borrowing' of all the costumes you found in the myriad boxes.

Your wage is now temporarily nonexistent.

Sett has advanced your pay for one month to pay for your room and board at an honest to goodness inn. It is not the best, but the bed is automatically more comfortable than the monstrosity you assembled.

You will continue wearing costumes from the storage room because Sett tells you to. The same outfit cannot be worn twice in the same week. If you run out of costumes, you are under strict instructions to cobble something together.

You are the only employee with this restriction.

The first time you're late he makes you wear the ears and tail for your whole shift.

You're never late again.

Ionia, that's where you are now, is really pretty once you leave the pit. The looming threat of the people who brought you here is dimmed by the fact that the place you're in looks like random Asian inspired pastel cottagecore. You're in some weird fantasy land when you go in and out of the town proper. The outskirts?

Oh, those are grim grime and sadness. Still pastel, but much dirtier.

It's been a whole two months since you've been pulled into this world and you honestly still can't get over how beautiful everything is. All the people seem really nice, so long as you stick to the ones who dress like they match the scenery. The other ones?

You can't understand a word that comes out of a Noxian's mouth.

Apparently, the only language you speak is Ionian and even then it requires the opposite party to have at least a spark of Ionian magic. Ryo thinks it's _hilarious_ and Sett takes shameful advantage of that fact to keep your interactions with some of the seedier looking people as short as possible.

Your job is to take people's money and give none back. You seem to enjoy doing it in outfits that make Sett loom ominously over people who look at you a certain way. 

According to Ryo, Sett will never let you quit.

Your purpose in life is to look pretty and get Sett money. You're pretty sure you're being counted as a part of his hoard.

Being a part of Sett's hoard, however, does not help you with getting lunch. You've gotten back to having real money again and you like it. It helps that you've taken to some light betting on pit matches, sliding your coin under whichever name Sett talks about the most while staring at you.

Once, just once, you bet on Sett in a spectacular match that got you a fat little pile of gold you're saving to pay for a down deposit on a tiny little house for rent. It comes furnished and in a part of town that Ryo, and thus Sett by default, approved of. One more match like that and you'll have enough.

In the meantime, you've come to a crossroads in your life.

You cannot keep wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt around town. You refuse to, and Sett was very adamant that you not do it anyway, wear any of your work uniform outfits out and about in the real world. It's not Halloween (not that anyone here even knows what that is) and there's no reason you should be prancing around with your mop and a maid uniform in public.

This brings you to your current dilemma.

There are no clothing stores in this town. Magic Asian cottagecore land does not have mass-produced clothing. What they do have, however, are fabric merchants.

You do not know how many yards of silk it takes to make a shirt or how much cotton weave is needed to make a pair of pants. The merchant has all but draped you in fabric, fluttering away with coins in their eyes and the dream of an unbelievable payday. They've gone off to fetch a selection of thread and needles for you to make clothes for yourself or take to a tailor to make for you.

"Oh, you poor dear."

If there was ever an embodiment of maternal warmth and calm, it would be this strange woman's voice. Slender fingers reached out to unwind some of the reams of cloth from your body. "He is a bit enthusiastic at times. Are you here for some new clothes?"

All of you sags in relief. She's got lilac hair and an anime mom ponytail. This woman could not be safer if she tried. Sure, she's got claws and animal ears, but you've been around Sett for long enough that you aren't even fazed anymore by the idea that you're talking to an animal person. "Yes. I... my boss says I can't wear my uniform outside of work. And uh..."

She smiles. "And this is all you have to wear. Well, let's get you sorted, shall we?"

Her name is Yeona and she runs a tailor shop out of her house. She lives there with her son, but he's away all day at work and she pretty much has the place to herself.

"He's a good boy. Such a good son. He's building an orphanage," she says around a mouthful of needles that she's using to pin one of her old dresses to your size.

Honestly, you're not surprised that a woman as kind as Yeona's son is just as kind as her. Of course, you expected an anime mother like Yeona to love her son unconditionally, but it's gratifying to know that her love isn't blind. "Does he work late?"

You glance around at the whirlwind of fabric and clothes that her living room has become, and a part of you feels guilty that you're taking up so much space. But, the new clothes are nice. Maybe, if they're nice enough, Sett will let you wear them to work instead of whatever thing he's dug out of a box in storage.

A girl can dream.

Yeona laughs at your mild panic and it is a beautiful sound. "Oh, don't worry. My Settrigh won't mind. Now, arms up."

She helps you slip the dress off, careful to avoid stabbing you with pins. "Are you sure?"

It says something about how nice and efficient this woman is that you don't mind standing in her living room, clad in only your underwear and what your parents gave you, within less than a day of knowing her. Then again, she is also altering her own clothes on the spot for you and taking the pile of beautiful fabric she helped you pick out as collateral.

Yeona sets you up with a comfortable hanfu that needs no altering and sends you on your way when you mention that you need to start heading to work.

Your boss is an asshole, and you don't particularly want to figure out if he found where you had stuffed those fox ears after the last time you were late.

Yeona sends you with a little hug. Such a nice woman. "Be safe, dear."

You do your best Vana White impression to introduce Voldy to her. "Safe as death lasers."

She has no idea what you mean, but she smiles and waves you off politely.

Sett, for once, doesn't tell you to change when you slip through the pit doors. What he does do is stare at you for a really long and uncomfortable moment before he wordlessly goes back into his office and slams the door.

You can hear the faint shout of "Gods damn it," from your register.

Ryo winces as he set his till box down across the way from you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"What?" You have no idea what this man is talking about. You have had some very strange conversations with the ninja over the course of the last few weeks, mostly concerning whether green tea should be sweet or not, but this one is just unsettling. "What are you even talking about?"

"You. The Boss." He waves his hand like it means something. "Did ya get into a fight? Do I need to find a hole to bury you in?"

All you hear is your name bellowed from Sett's office, and your bunny slippers all but slide across the floor as you move with a purpose. Sett was not a patient person and you did not want to test whatever strange mood he was in. Voldy thrums in anticipation and you hiss at the rocks in vain. "Coming!"

You knock before you enter because you are not an idiot. Time is money in Sett's world, but paying proper respect to the boss is survival in yours. "You called?"

He throws something at you that smells like whiskey and smoke with that faint metallic undertone that you now know is old blood. "Put that on."

By now you have learned not to question your livelihood. "Yes, boss." You turn to open the door, off to go find a nice unoccupied room with a door to change in.

"Nah," comes from behind you and he closes the door and keeps it shut by the swift expedient of leaning on it. "Put it on before you go."

"Oh hell no! I'm not getting changed with you right there." There are limits to what you'll tolerate, and you wind your foot up to deliver a swift bunny slippered donkey kick of justice to his shin.

He growls.

You freeze.

A part of you understood that your boss was part animal. You saw it every day. He has claws, fanged canines, animal ears, and looks like he's one costume change away from being the Beast. But this close? Growling in your ear? Oh no, this you were not made to handle.

This close, sniffing at your shoulder and making a little hum like he's analyzing what you smell like? Nope. Waiter? Check please, because you're done.

You're in an isekai anime of an undetermined genre, not suddenly asexual or dead.

" _Nah_. Put that on and you can go. On top."

You can literally hear him breathing and feel him penning you against the door. "You have to move first."

Sett hums again. "Nah. I think I kinda like it here."

You kick him in the shin as hard as you can, just to hear him laugh. "Asshole," you hiss as you duck under his arm and throw the blanket he gave you over yourself like the Virgin Mary and every bad Jedi robe. "Do I smell bad or something?"

"I don't feel like fighting every Ionian all night. I won't get paid if I beat the audience to death." He tilts his head and pushes off the door, giving you his full attention as he steps away from the door. "'Sides. I like how you smell."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

You finally figured out the genre.

"Oh _fuck me_ ," you breathe.

His ears twitch forward as he smirks in what he probably thinks is a smolder. "Ya offerin'?"

Your brain tries, it really does. But all you get for your effort is the mental version of a blue screen. This doesn't make any sense.

"Well? Yes or no? I ain't got all day."

Nope.

You cannot process this. This is not what your brain prepared to do today. What you can do, however, is bolt out of his office like this never happened.

You've figured out the genre.

You're in a romance novel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE SMUTTIEST SMUT TO HAVE EVER SMUTTED.
> 
> This chapter is why we have an E rating.

In hindsight, you should have seen this coming. All the signs were there. The hovering, the touching, the flirting, the showing off. Your new coworkers had figured it out before you had and had tried to tell you.

You hadn’t wanted to listen.

Sett, boss of Ionia’s criminal underground, wanted in your yoga pants.

It was kind of flattering in a terrifying way. You were confident enough to acknowledge that you were not in Sett’s league. Sett had a league of his own, filled with people arranged in order of body count and the amount of gold he had gotten from them.

Oh.

Oh no.

You were in Sett’s league. Not just that, but you were quietly holding the top position by virtue of your ticket sales and betting habits. You were the number one pick.

Ryo tossed a little bag of gold over to the gold woman who had tried to teach you how to break a man’s dick with your bare hand. “Damn. Thought it would have taken longer.”

She smiled. “And that’s why you’re still single.”

It was always nice to know that your coworkers enjoyed seeing you lose your mind. “You guys suck.”

She gracefully squatted down in front of your register, body folded just so as she propped her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees. “We tried to tell you. The only way he could have made it more obvious is if he peed on your leg with everyone watching.”

Ryo snorted. “She still wouldn’t have got it.”

“Fair,” she inclined her head and ceded the point. “The boss didn’t pick her for her observational skills.”

You sold your tickets today with Sett looming extra ominously behind you, and you literally ran when he picked up your till.

“I can’t wear that.”

Yeona frowned, looking from the cute little Ionian dress she had sewn overnight and you. “Why not? It suits you.”

“I... need you to make me some sheets. Just, sheets with holes cut out for my eyes. No skin showing.”

She set the dress down and took your hands in her gentle clawed ones. “Oh, you poor dear. What’s the matter?”

You don’t know why, but you burst into tears.

Later, when you’ve sipped a cup of calming tea from under one of Yeona’s quilts, you’ll marvel at how quickly the other woman went into the full maternal mode. There was no hesitation, only friendship. She’d wiped your tears away with her claws and drew you into a hug that had made you cry all the harder for its kindness. 

She carried you to her couch, shushing you when you tried to protest. Yeona was far stronger than she looked and tolerated no excuses.

“There now. Feel better?” She smiled warmly at your little nod. “Good. Now, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

The whole sordid story takes the rest of the afternoon. Your eyes are swollen from crying and you’ve somehow managed to get around saying you work at a fighting pit by saying you work as a night shift receptionist. You’re extra careful not to refer to Sett by anything other than ‘this guy at work’ just in case Sett’s underworld connections were far bigger than expected.

Yeona was a nice lady. She didn’t need to be associated with Sett in the slightest.

“You know, there’s an easy way to get out of this. If you’re already with someone, then that man won’t think he has a chance.”

She’s right. “Yeah but, the guy at work is kind of... really scary.” This is the understatement of the year.

Yeona laughed. “Don’t worry. Settrigh’s a big boy. He does construction for a living; he can handle himself.”

She pats you on the arm and you almost break down into tears again. Finally a silver lining to this awkward situation.

You can be late for work to make a statement. Showing up with a burly construction worker who’s currently being told by his mother to pretend to be your boyfriend? That’s a statement.

You don’t entirely know if you do or don’t want to date your boss, but at least this way he’ll stop being so vague about it. If you have to infer his interest from context clues and your coworkers, that’s not clear.

Either he wants to ask you out or he doesn’t.

Or he could just want a one night stand.

You’re not sure if you’re capable of those.

“Ma, I don’t mind. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

Hang on.

Wait.

“Oh _fuck_.”

“Well. Hello again, gorgeous. Miss me that much?”

A distant part of your brain recognizes the pleasant politeness platitudes of leaving Yeona’s home, your hand tucked into the crook of Sett’s elbow because his mother insisted it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

You remember hearing Yeona yell at Sett, her _son_ , about how if he wants to date nice girls then he needs to actually ask. She raised him better than this apparently.

“So. I’m not clear about this, huh?”

You’re going to die.

You do not die.

You do, however, get thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It is at this moment that you realize that Sett has been humoring you the entire time because he has Voldy in his hand faster than you can blink.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Just... not lettin’ you run away. Again. We’re gonna talk.” He glares at Voldy as he speaks, growling through his teeth.

He smacks your ass every time you try to struggle and frankly that’s more indignity than you want to suffer on the streets of Ionia. Better to be a dead weight and put your faith in your death laser rocks to save you.

The rocks don’t even so much as hum. Traitors.

You do not like being carried through the building where every single one of your coworkers can see. Your face is an inferno that grows with every snicker and whooping holler.

Sett appears to be past the point of no return, his grip tightening around you just a hair before he forced himself to relax. “Next one meets me in the pit,” he roared.

Silence is a beautiful thing, even if you don’t like the reason.

“Put me _down,_ asshole.” The almighty might of the bunny slipper will see you safe.

Or they would.

If they hadn’t fallen off your feet somewhere on the streets of Ionia while you tried to flail your way out of Sett’s grip. This is honestly the worst part of this. Your bunny slippers had served you well for many faithful years and through the start of your isekai adventure, and they did not deserve to be left on the road like this.

He doesn't even let you down before he closes the door, locking it, and kicking one of the veritable treasure chests he stores his horrendous amount of gold in across the room to block the door.

You will not be leaving this room without Sett letting you out of it. You will not be doing anything at all without Sett allowing it.

He puts you on his desk and cages you in with his upper body, his hands right by your hips and ready to grab you if you try to slide backward. Sett's between your legs and it sets your heart to beating a little faster even though you know he's only done it like this to keep you from kicking him in the balls.

He's close enough that you can feel the heat of his body and see the shadows dipping into the curve of each muscle.

You know he has no intention of moving.

"You talked to my momma."

The wall in his office is just _fascinating_.

"And you lied to her."

You drag your eyes back to his face to see if he's considering murdering you. It wouldn't make sense. No one would pay to see you die. "I'm... sorry?"

For just a brief moment, you can see the echoes of Yeona in his smile. It's a warm thing that makes your face burst into flames. "You... called me a weird coworker who kept playin' with your emotions. Not your boss. Not the boss of the fighting pit."

He runs his fingers through your hair, plays with the ends like you're some kind of marvel he just discovered in the back of his hoard. "You said you were a _receptionist_."

"Um... Sorry?"

Sett smirks. "You didn't tell my momma on me. Good girl."

Oh, well that's awkward enough to make your face flush and make you stutter. "You're welcome?" Like it was a question, as if this was something about your job details that needed to be stated. It was common sense not to talk about the criminal elements with upstanding citizens. "You told her you build orphanages."

He leans forward, close enough for you to see the gold flecks in his eyes and so close you can feel your heart trying to flutter away like a hummingbird. "Ya don't get it if I say it. So I'll prove it."

Oh. He doesn't push. Just stands there between your knees and waits for you to look at him. "Tell me to kiss you."

"Kiss me?"

He doesn't kiss you. Instead, he runs the sharp points of his one hand's claws across the bottom of your jaw, rubs his thumb into the dip behind your jaw, and cradles the back of your head in his palm. Men have died from this. You've seen it. But for some reason it just makes you shiver when he does it to you.

You're not afraid.

You don't understand it, but you are not afraid of Sett.

He dips his head forward and you feel your eyes slide shut. Sett doesn't take his hand away, doesn't move from his spot, and just rubs at the soft skin at the side of your neck. You can feel his breath, and yours hitches to match his out of some primal instinct you don't understand.

This. This was what you wanted.

"Let me prove it."

"So shut up and kiss me already, asshole."

Kissing Sett is not polite. It is all pointy teeth that suck at your lip until you moan because he's the boss and all he knows how to do is lead. Kissing Sett is a furious and wild thing that tries to sear his name onto your body with each lap of his tongue and each gasp he drags out of you. It is not a kiss so much as it is a _claiming_ and how could you _ever_ think he didn't mean this.

You forget to breathe.

He parts from you with a low chuckle, and you realize that your fingers are clinging to the fur of his vest to try to drag him closer and closer still. One of your legs is wrapped around him as your body curves up towards him and oh god you think you might die if he doesn't kiss you like that again.

"And?"

Sett's voice is low, rasping against you in ways that make your skin feel two sizes too small to contain what he does to you. "You think you can run me off with some fake still?" He rubs his thumb across your bottom lip, his claw pricking at your skin. "Nope. You already know how this ends."

His fingers tighten in your hair, and he pulls until he bares your throat. Sett scrapes his fangs against your quickening pulse, waits for you to choke out a breath before he bites down just enough to set you to a single shuddering gasp. He sucks at your pulse and your fingers flutter and grab at whatever part of him you can reach in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

"You're mine, and I don't let go of what's mine," he breathes lowly into your ear and you can't help the little whimper.

You can feel his smile as he kisses his way down your throat, pausing at the joint of your neck and shoulders to bite another mark. Your dress is in the way, the clever clasps eluding him as he stops to try and figure them out. "Fuck it. I'll buy you another one."

He lets you go to sit back on his desk, panting from the lack of oxygen going to your brain, and bunches fabric in his hands with a roguish smirk.

Your dress, pretty thing though it was, does not survive its encounter with Yeona's son.

Oh god, you can't think about Yeona right now. Not when your clothes are covering next to nothing and Sett's rolling his shoulders back to throw his top somewhere you can't and don't care to know where. He pulls his gloves off with his teeth and never stops looking at you.

You.

Just you.

With the shreds of a dress hanging on your shoulders, there isn't much to keep him from seeing you shiver and pant. You don't know if you can manage to get enough brainpower to form words, let alone keep yourself together under his gaze.

And Sett?

Sett clearly likes what he sees.

"There you are. Hello again, gorgeous." You shiver against his palms as he runs his hands up your sides, shoving your arms up to push your dress off. "Off," he mouths against the underside of your breast, the sensitive skin shivering before he bites another mark and makes you scream out a sob.

It takes a bit of maneuvering and shoving to get Sett to move enough for you to pull your dress off all the way, and you end up with your heels braced against his desk as you sit on it.

Apparently, that's an invitation.

He whistles sharp and appreciative, takes just a step back to look you over, at the panting and desperate mess that you have become, all of you splayed out over his desk and flushing as he just _looks_.

"Asshole," you manage to whine.

His hand slips into your panties, your poor laundry day panties with their little hearts that make him snort under his breath when he sees them. Sett's fingers run over you with a sloppy wet slide that makes your toes curl before the points of his claws scrape up suddenly sensitive parts of you that you had forgotten existed and you _scream_ at the new sensation.

Oh, you're _ruined_ for other men for a long while. Not that Sett looks like he's willing to let another man see you like this, his eyes dilated until the gold flecks in his irises are nothing more than a memory.

" _Mine_ ," he growls and your brain gives up the idea of higher brain processing in favor of something much more primal.

The sight of him biting his claws down to the pads of his fingers will keep you up at night. Especially since he uses those fingers to spread you apart, his thumb rubbing slow circles that make you sob.

He doesn't say a word, simply growls again and slips his fingers into your wet warmth, sliding them in and out in search of something you don't care to know the name of. Sett's fangs are at your throat when he crooks his fingers in and out, rubbing his thumb around your clit, and biting down gently while you clench around him.

The only thing you can do is hold onto his forearms, sobbing while he destroys what you know about him with each piston of his fingers inside you. There's something building, pressing against the borders of what your reality used to be, and thrumming in your veins until the only thing you know is the almost feral look on his face.

" _Mine_."

You break apart, unravel at your seams, and there is the best and worst part.

You curl forward and gasp loudly, stars floating in your vision, your body desperate to keep him right there while you flutter and spasm around him.

Sett all but throws himself back into his chair, not quite the throne in pride of place in the arena, his hands leaving you just long enough to get his pants unbuckled and the silk open enough to free his erection.

He doesn't give you the chance to even look at him properly before he leans forward, grabbing your wrists to pull you off the desk and toward him. Your legs wobble, the rotation of the planet still too much for your frazzled nerves to handle, but you manage to steady yourself with his help.

He lets you go only long enough to wrap his hands around your waist and _lift_ you up into his lap. You fit together like puzzle pieces, your legs opening to accommodate him while he slouches down enough to make room for your knees on the seat. "C'mon," he sucks into the skin under your other breast, leaving a matching mark that you won't discover until much later, as close to begging as you will ever see him.

This is not the first or last time you will ever have sex. It is, however, the first time you've had a dick make you scream with relief when it slips inside you. You balance yourself with your hands on the back of his chair because some instinct in you knows that you're going to need something a bit more stationary to ground yourself on.

Your world is a lot of sobbing, panting, and a curl of pleasure that rushes through you to spread tingling delight down to the tips of your curling toes and up to the roots of your hair.

Sett holds your hip with one hand and curls the other into the hair at the base of your neck, bucking his hips up in a feverish pace that you do your damndest to match on the downswing. There are stars behind your eyes and he keeps pulling your hair until your back arches back further and further still.

Sett is not a merciful man. He sets a pace that you struggle to keep up with and eventually just give up on. You let him all but use you, and your glazed eyes can barely focus on the way he grits his teeth before he speeds up. Eventually, he stops pulling at your hair and simply uses his other hand to help him lift you up even as he keeps thrusting up.

This isn't enough. You shift your knees and try to open your legs wider in a desperate attempt for more and more friction, canting your hips to keep him fucking up against that spot that made you cum before.

Sett is mildly obliging, shifts his grip, takes the hint, and makes it his goal in life to make you _scream his name_ while you orgasm around him.

You barely register the feeling of him speeding up, stuttering, teeth biting into your shoulder as he thrusts up into you just one last time.

You do notice, however, when everything is done and you lay panting against him as he lounges back in his chair like a king, the wet ooze against the inner part of your thigh. But you're far too tired to care, body turned to liquid as Sett idly runs his claws over every inch of your back that he can reach with one hand as his other arm is far too occupied with clutching you to his chest so you won't fall or try to run.

You won't make it far when you're doing your best impression of an overcooked noodle.

He nuzzles his nose into the sex tousled hair on the top of your head with a satisfied hum.

"Proof enough, or do I gotta do that again?"

You sigh and do your best to ignore the feeling of his skin against your cheek and how surprisingly satisfied you are. "You're still an asshole."

But he's your asshole.

Maybe being in an isekai wasn't so bad after all.

_Fuck_.

You liked that dress.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, we have come to the inevitable end.
> 
> Surprise!
> 
> It's smut.

You can't look Ryo in the face.

You can't look _anyone_ in the face.

Not when the _entire pit_ has heard you scream Sett's name amongst a litany of prayers to god, demanding more, less, harder, faster, please, yes, _right there._

It would maybe have been fine if just the people you knew here heard.

But that wasn't enough for Sett.

You can't walk. It's not a question of your willingness or some kind of disability. You can't walk because your legs give out and you wobble like a newborn deer, and every time you think you've got it under control again, Sett pulls you back against him and there you go again.

His chair, desk, wall, bookshelf, and the most memorable time where he didn't even let you get up off the floor and now you have rug burn on your shins.

"If you're still walkin', I didn't do it right."

Dear whichever deity is the closest and most willing to assist: please come and save you.

Sett is an insufferable asshole.

He's, insofar as you're aware, now _your_ asshole.

The golden-eyed woman has no business snickering behind her hand at you as Sett rubs presses a kiss to the crown of your head. She's got no business at all mouthing the words 'I told you so' and sketching the stupidest heart in the air. Yeah, sure, she was the first person to see you after your rather thorough debauching. That didn't give her the right to make fun of you.

You think that, and then you remember that the only reason you have clothes on _at all_ is because she had the spinal fortitude to bang on the door and yell really loudly about how Sett's profits were dropping from not charging admission for the show.

Three days. Three days confined in a room with Sett where all you knew was sex, sleep, snacking on whatever food Sett fetched while you were passed out from exhaustion, and some really good booze.

You have no idea what her name is, but you're going to name your firstborn after her.

Oh god, what does that say about your life that you’re contemplating how to best show your gratitude to someone who interrupted you in the middle of your post-sex afterglow. All thirty minutes of afterglow that Sett let you have before he dragged you to him and started all over again. Sett hadn’t been happy about it, and you’re almost confused that he even stopped to think about it.

You are a treasure.

He wants you all to himself and will spare no effort to make it so.

But he still wants more.

He lets you go about your shifts with only a minimal level of hovering and grins that you don’t have the energy left in you to question. It’s odd and callous and you do not like it.

You spent three days with him. A very naked, sweaty, mind-numbing three days. You do not think Sett is the type of person to say he loves someone after two months, one week, and three days. If anything, he seemed to be the sort who was entirely dedicated to the art of punching people in the face, taking all their money, and buying himself nice things.

But then you met his mother.

And, without even realizing it, you talked about him with his mother.

Yeona is actually right.

Sett is a nice boy.

He just has this tiny problem where the minute he wants something, he goes and gets it.

You kind of admire that.

Yeona keeps using Sett to invite you over for tea and lunch. You laugh in Sett’s face when he tries to subtly needle you the first time in order to get you to go. Joke’s on him: you’d hang out with his mother even if he told you not to.

She makes your clothes.

A disturbingly large amount of clothes.

And some of them?

Some of them are very clearly the result of a woman who wants to see grandchildren before she dies.

Those you keep to yourself.

There is some part of you that rebels at the idea that your you-don't-know-what's mother has not only seen you naked but made every bit of clothing you have.

Every.

Single.

Bit.

Four months, one week, three days.

You don't remember what waking up without Sett breathing next to you feels like.

He stopped paying for your room and board and just walks you home with him at the end of every shift. His mother is absolutely delighted by this and all but drowns you in acceptance, because _of course_ Sett still lives with his mother.

You've picked teeth out of his knuckles in his office while he presses the side of his scotch glass to his face as if it will soothe the swelling of his black eye. You've seen an Ionian mage summon water from the air to wash away the blood and guts that the last person foolish enough to challenge Sett left behind.

_He still lives with his mother._

And yet... 

His mother makes breakfast and sometimes lets you help. But mostly you wake up to Sett watching you sleep like he can't believe you're real, fingers running through the ends of your hair and the sleepiest little smile on his face. His mother is usually gracious enough to give him ten minutes to wake you up before she yells things from the kitchen that make Sett's ears twitch and leave with a huff.

You wake up one morning, for once before Sett, and watch him sleep for a long moment. The sun on his face makes him look like just a regular man, not a half-beast crime lord, and something in you shivers and settles.

You're in love with him.

You're in love with Sett.

He wakes up and you pretend to yawn like you just woke up, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and you run out of the room before he has time to stop looking like you hit him in the face with the biggest haymaker.

Six months, five days.

Voldy's been upgraded with some fancy Ionian staff that Yeona presents you with the next day.

"You're sure now what he wants?" She looks at you, an idiot picking out knots from around the fractured halves of a Nexus Obelisk.

You free one half and set hold the thing over your palm just like Voldy likes it before you pass it over the top of the staff like Yeona told you to. It's a nice staff, all covered in pretty white flowers that turned blue at the edges and glowed when you finished setting Voldy in its new home. You're a mage now and you'll Voldy laser anyone who argues it. "Yeah. He's not good at talking things out."

Yeona hums. "Oh?"

"He just keeps saying I'm his. No... real anything else."

The vastayan woman smiles and holds your face in her palms, gentle as the spring sunshine. "To my people, to belong to each other means _everything_." There's a quiet sadness there and you remember what Sett drunkenly told you about his parents. (You volunteered to see if you could death laser his dad from across the pit if he tried to run from a fair fight.)

Sett doesn't put a label on you, because you are _you._ The only thing that matters to him is that you belong to him. There's probably something poetic in there that he's too emotionally constipated and punchdrunk to say out loud.

Vastayans do things in literal statements.

He said you were his.

You agreed.

He moved you into his house with his _mother._

Oh.

Well, shit. 

You're kind of an idiot.

Yeona is absolutely thrilled to help you do your hair. You try really hard not to think about how you just asked his _mother_ to help, but you compensate her for her troubles by handing her the biggest bag of gold imaginable.

She pats you on the cheek and laughs. "I remember when I was young. Make sure my boy treats you right."

You wave as she leaves.

You layer up in the gauziest hanfu known to mankind, swipe a tiny bit of actual red lipstick something over your lips that you may or may not have stolen from the glowing gold woman, and you try really hard not to think about how this is how you destroy Sett.

You tell Sett that you're sick. Terribly sick, super gross. You need tomorrow off from work. You're contagious.

He's probably going to get sick too. You don't recommend he remove the blanket.

Sett snorts and gets into bed with you anyway. "You're not sick."

"Oh, so awful. I'm so terribly sick. Oh fates, how cruel." You swing your leg over his hips and press your fingertips to his shoulders when he tries to get out of bed. "I need constant attention." Comfortably straddling his waist, you're careful to scratch your nails down his chest _extra hard_ when he tries to pick you up.

You blink, slow as molasses and as calm as could be, at his surprise. "Constant." You shift just a little bit and roll your hips against his. "Attention."

His fingers tighten against your hips and he, very carefully, stops moving. "Oh?"

Patiently, oh so patiently, you wait for his eyes to adjust to the starlight. And when you feel the heat of an erection begin to press against you, you smile.

Slowly, oh so slowly, you reach up to remove a single robe, baring each one of your shoulders so deliberately that Sett stops breathing for exactly a moment.

When he tries to lunge up and strip the rest from you, you take a deep breath, lean in, and close your blunt human teeth over the side of his neck.

You're not good at growling but you do your damnedest. " _Mine._ "

Sett's startled groan is the best kind of reward you could have ever asked for. Ten points to your House, you paid attention. He grips into the thin silk of your robe and _pulls_ so hard you can hear the tearing of fabric, but he doesn't move a muscle.

You reward him by rocking your hips against his very interested erection and biting him hard enough that you know you left a bruise. It says something that the strangled semi-roar that grumbles in his chest makes you grin. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

Your nails scratch against his chest and you _push_ at him. Sett falls backward with a broken sound you were not actually aware he could make, his hips bucking against you once before you scratch him hard enough to leave welts. "You're not paying attention."

Sett bares his teeth at you, tendons standing out on the sides of his neck as he twists his fists into more fabric and you hear it tearing. "Oh, I'm payin' attention."

It doesn't surprise you as much as it does him when you roll your hips hard enough to make him jack his leg up to give you something to brace against. You do it again just to see him screw his eyes shut and you claw at him again. "Liar."

"It's nice bein' on top, huh?"

There is a tiny part of your brain that remembers the last time someone tried to overthrow Sett from his hard-earned position at the top of the Ionian underworld. But that part of your brain is drowned out by the pounding of your heart and aching need between your legs. And that part of your brain has you smirking down at him. You do your best to mimic his accent with misplaced confidence you know is about to be destroyed. "Bein' the boss is better than not bein' the boss."

Sett laughs and it makes your skin tingle. "Nah, you're just fuckin' the boss." He lets your robe go and almost lazily folds his arms behind his head. "Ya gonna show me how pretty you are on top?"

Well, this isn't exactly going as planned. By now you thought he'd have your positions flipped and you would be screaming for a different kind of mercy than he usually gets asked for.

Shit.

Sett takes a margin of pity on you. "Hey. You don't gotta-"

You brace yourself on his chest and _rock_ your hips hard enough to make him hiss.

"Oh, you _gotta-_ "

Once more, and before you can think too hard, you're panting out a rhythm in time with your hips as you all but undulate on top of him. There's nothing under your robes but thin silk so red it would have brought honor to Mulan's family, and you can feel it dampening under you. Whatever madness Ionians consider to be underwear is hanging on to you at this point by thin silk strings and hope.

The throbbing of your pulse is driven by a familiar frantic need that has you throwing your head back in the vain hope of air.

Sett knows you. He's watched you nearly every day since you entered his pit, seen you dressed in all manner of strange things, marked his claim on every inch of your skin. But you don't recognize the look on his face, that look that makes you whimper and raise a hand to your mouth so you can bite your knuckle and muffle the sound-

"Yeah, that's enough of that."

He's got you rolled over under him faster than you can think, and he kisses your knuckle almost tenderly as he pulls your hand away from your mouth. Sett shushes you, nips against the inside of your wrist, and you know by now that this is _different_ than normal.

This is soft and tender in ways you didn't even know he was capable of.

You whimper, legs falling open in invitation. " _Sett_ ," comes a tiny little plea. Oh god, this was a terrible mistake and you absolutely did not expect this would _even work._ "Please please _please_ -"

His teeth are at your throat, his fingers wrapped in the strings of your pretty underwear and he can't be bothered to figure out how to take them off. (You knew he wouldn't, and that's why you didn't even bother to tie them for more than basic propriety's sake.) He shushes you, slips his fingers where you need them the most, bends them as they slide in and out, and oh _oh right there-_

You're shaking as your back arches, the world stopping on its axis just because _Sett made it_.

Later, much later, you'll laugh at how absurd it is that when Sett finally curses as he fumbles his erection free and fucks up into you until he's grunting and you're panting broken syllables... it feels like everything is right in the universe.

He is the moon that orbits around your star, and you think you understand now what the vastaya mean.

"Mine."

"Yours."

Ryo is a blessed representative of whatever holy power manages Ionia. There’s no other reason a man can be this good at anticipating your needs. You’ve got a cushion on a high backed chair that is definitely one of the fancy gilt ones you used to make your bed what feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s like sitting on a cloud. And oh, your aching hips appreciate it more than Ryo could ever know.

He brings you a pile of soft robes, not unlike the hanfu you have gotten accustomed to, with high collars that cover your body from your neck down with sleeves that touch the tips of your fingers. You feel like a child every time you have to pull your sleeves back up to your elbows in order to reach anything at all.

But you are much happier with all the bite marks and bruises on your skin covered so you can at least lie to yourself that no one knows just where you got them.

You have an entire conversation with him through raised eyebrows, focused glances, a few spectacular grimaces, and one notable instance of you wordlessly screaming. He is your friend here, your best friend. But now? The gold glowing woman whose name you still don’t know has rapidly replaced him as your go-to life solution.

Ryo will not help you.

He does not want to be asked to report to the pit the next day for Sett to make some money from his pain and beat down.

“My name is Yuling,” laughs your new best friend. She is immune to Sett’s bullshit, as she calls it, and doesn’t hesitate to loudly talk about how soft your hair is and how lucky Sett is that you tolerate him. When Sett glares at her, she simply gives him a glowing gold smile and starts talking about how pretty your children will be.

Sett turns a strange series of colors ranging from white to stark red in rapid succession, but he keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the evening.

Yuling is a goddamn gift from the gods upon humanity.

Nine months, three weeks, one day.

You don’t speak or read Noxian. This is a well-known fact. You’ve gotten rather good at staring blankly and holding your hand out for coins and ignoring all of their conversations. You take exact change only and anyone who tries to pull a fast one on your ability to remember this currency method is smiled at.

You made Ryo make you a tip jar, and you’re very good at putting all the extra change in the jar with a smile. You might not speak Noxian, but the message is clear: exact change only, all extras go to the house. You are pretty sure this is some form of robbery.

Sett has become a bad influence.

You don’t need a word of Noxian to get by at your job and everyone knows it.

This does not explain why there is a piece of rather fancy paper being placed on the table in front of you that is very clearly written in Noxian. There is gold on the letters and fancy swirls on some very lovely looking calligraphy, a seal at the bottom, and space for four signatures and names. It looks very nice and impressive.

You can’t read a word of it.

“Legally binding contract. It’s standard,” Sett says as he wiggles a truly ridiculous gold fountain pen in your face. “Basically says I gotta take care of all your needs so long as you’re with me, contract to be terminated by mutual consent. Added a nice bit in there about your take of the till. Ya never filled one of these out?”

Seeing as how you don’t know what it is, no. “No?” You squint at it like that will help you figure out whatever the letters mean. “What does it actually say?”

Sett smirks and starts reading it in the most monotone droning you’ve ever heard. Even if it’s Noxian, you know what legalese sounds like. Ryo and Yuling don’t look like this bothers them, so clearly it’s normal everyday legalese.

“Oh god, stop. This isn’t like, indenturing myself to you, right? You’re not about to sell me off to the highest bidder?”

He taps a claw at the top of the page, leans over. “Pretty sure we went over this. Need a repeat? You’re _mine_.”

Your face is on fire as you snatch the pen out of his hand. You can’t handle Sett when he gets like this, and you really don’t want to see what another three days of isolation with Sett feels like. Your body can’t take it. He can blame it on being whatever a Vastayan is all he likes: you’re not made to keep up with his stupid amount of stamina.

“God, fine.” Contracts are contracts. If Sett says he put a takeaway percentage of the till in there and he’s going to keep paying your room and board, you really don’t feel like arguing. He wants to be generous in public and make a big deal out of it. There is probably a reason for it.

You scrawl your name where he points, sign on the fancy line.

He snatches the pen and paper as if it will burn you if you hold it too long. Faster than anything, he signs his name on there and holds the pen up like it’s a trophy. “First two to witness it gets paid!”

You are pretty sure you watched Yuling stab a man in the thigh with her nails to grab the pen and slap her signature on it with the most shit-eating grin on her face. “So happy for you, boss.”

Ryo, ever the classy ninja, just catches the pen when Yuling throws it at him like the champion knife thrower she probably is on her off time. You don’t know. But these people are making an awfully big deal out of this.

“Is getting full-time status this big of a deal?”

Sett rolls the page up after examining it. “Probably. Last chance to back out.”

You stare at him. “Why would I?”

“Well, you heard the woman. Legal and binding,” he smirks.

You do not understand why he feels the need to kiss you in front of the entire population of the fighting pit staff, but you’re not going to complain.

“Told ya. _Mine_.”

Later, when he's counting gold and you're lounging on the comfy little loveseat he had put into his office just for you, you remember the form. He's got it framed on the wall behind his desk where it's the first thing anyone sees.

Whatever it is, it was not a regular contract.

It hadn't changed your life at all. If anything, everyone _expected_ him to be softer to you than everyone else now. Yuling goes with you everywhere you go if Sett can't come with you, but she's probably the first friend you've ever had who can crush a man's testicles with one hand so you can't complain.

She's the coolest person you've ever met.

You're pretty sure she's your bodyguard.

The closest she's ever come to admitting it is to tell you to unleash hell on anyone who tries to separate the two of you, don't steal her kill, and never tell Sett that she's sleeping with Ryo until at least two months from now.

You've been in this world for so long you can't even remember what your normal clothes feel like. Everything you wear is silk, long-sleeved hanfu that float ethereally behind you everywhere you walk. You'd like to think you're blending in but you know perfectly well that Sett pays for it and his mother delights in dressing you like her favorite doll.

"Hey Sett?"

The man grunts and scribbles some number down into his ledger. "What?"

You roll over on the loveseat so you can watch him properly. "That contract. What's it _really_ for?"

"Does it matter?"

"Don't make me go get Voldy, asshole."

He sets his fancy gold pen down. "You said you were mine, and I said I was yours. It's not that hard."

Ryo and Yuling have been trying very hard to get you to learn how to put Ionian two and Noxian two together to make common sense four. "Hold up." You sit up fast enough to make fabric flutter around you, and your hand itches to have Voldy for this conversation.

He gets up from his desk with a face like impending thunder. "Not lettin' you change your mind."

Yup, you need Voldy for this conversation. You're up and trying to cross the room to Voldy's little rack at the same time Sett's moving to intercept. Your new fluffy bunny slippers are not yet properly trained in the fine art of getting you places you shouldn't be, and you don't even blame them for not reaching your goal.

You're getting tired of being treated like a sack of potatoes. You drum your fists against his back. "You absolute _asshole._ "

He tosses you onto your little loveseat so hard you bounce and see stars swimming across your vision. "Your asshole though."

"Oh god, your mother is going to _kill me._ "

Sett snorts. "Nope."

"Did you seriously _marry me_ in the _lobby_ without even _asking?_ "

"Yeah."

You were too busy having an existential crisis to notice him dropping to his knees in front of you. You're too used to him manhandling you at this point to think about why he has your legs over his shoulders. But you notice when he starts folding your skirts up.

"Hey, no!"

More specifically, you focus back on him when his nose presses against silk and you can feel him breathing against the inside of your hip. He gives a grunt, and then every part of you focuses for one single moment as he gives a particularly long lick.

Your heel drums into his back and you give a tiny shriek, your hands automatically going to his hair like a death grip on it will make him stop licking you through the fabric.

Spoilers: it doesn't.

He stops just long enough to glare at you. "Watch the ears." This does not make you remove your hands from his hair, and he laughingly growls against you.

Thinking is very difficult when he begins to lick wetly at you, sending shocks down your spine and the roots of your hair tingling with each lap. You screw your eyes shut so you don't have to see the satisfied look on his face.

That makes it worse.

Sett is many things, but undedicated is not one of them. He takes a great amount of pride in applying all of his strength of will and body upon the opposition. And now? All of that focus and dedication is being applied to using his mouth to make you fall apart.

You're pretty sure the sound of heavy breathing and panting is from out in the pit, some poor soul being let in on the best-kept secret in all of Ionia. And then Sett growls, right on top of your clit, keeps growling, and the panting turns to desperate sobbing.

Oh. That's you.

That familiar aching tingle begins in the tips of your curling toes, your hands letting go of Sett's hair to try to ground yourself by pulling on your own. But he catches your hands first, laces his fingers into yours, scrapes his fangs down and his tongue up...

You are transcendent, ethereal, and _adored._ If you wanted to, you could count the motes of dust dancing in the air, disturbed by your inevitable return to your body.

He smirks up at you and watches you shake in the aftermath. "I'm the luckiest bastard alive. Marry me?"

You're too blissed out from your orgasm to be mad and he knows it. "You're such an asshole. But you're _my_ asshole." You swallow around your dry tongue, nervous for reasons that you don't understand.

"Prove it." You crack open an eye to watch the idea begin to dawn on his face. "Kiss me."

He laughs, and you already know this outfit is about to be a total loss.

"You're telling your mother."

"Nah, she already knows."

You know what's better than knowing the genre of an anime like this one?

Already knowing that this one has a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a delightful journey. And as they say...
> 
> That's all folks.


End file.
